


Patience in a Teacup

by LotusFlair



Series: Fanart Muses [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Between mag 159 and 160, Cottage Story, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Scottish Honeymoon, Slice of Life, The fluffiest fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: After a year spent under the influence of the Lonely, Martin finds comfort in the little rituals of domesticity.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Fanart Muses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749337
Comments: 16
Kudos: 142





	Patience in a Teacup

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the work of @griftersbone; specifically the piece below which can be found here: https://twitter.com/griftersbone/status/1261636191931305984
> 
> Artwork used with the artist's permission.
> 
> You can also find me @darling_sammy or check out my website, POP Archives, @ www.pop-archives.com

It was day five of their hideaway "holiday" in Scotland and the first day that Martin woke up before Jon. Most of the last week was a blur of sounds, images, and feelings that bowled over him the minute Jon led them out of the Lonely. Throughout most of it, Martin could only recall two very concrete pieces of information: he was exhausted and Jon loved him. Granted, Jon hadn't said the exact words, but Martin was much better at reading between the lines than most people gave him credit for. With Jon the actions always spoke louder than his words. After his journey into the Lonely, killing Peter Lukas, and drawing Martin back to reality, Jon might as well have a neon sign floating above his head flashing, "I love you!"

The rest might have been easier if he wasn't so numb from aligning with Peter and the Lonely. He'd barely noticed the weariness before because he didn't have the bandwidth to care about his own well-being. The last six months had been mostly about keeping Jon safe at the cost of himself. It was a sacrifice he'd made peace with a long time ago, but like always, Jon found a way to muck it up simply by being himself. Being removed from the Lonely brought its own clarity and Martin shuddered at how close he'd come to giving up. Time was a funny thing to keep track of within the pure domain of an Entities, but Martin knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Jon had waited any longer to find him he wouldn't be lying in bed with the man he loved right now.

Other than using hindsight to pick his actions apart, Martin reacted to reentry into the fogless world mostly by sleeping his way through it. A solid block of the train ride to Scotland was spent with his face pressed against the glass or sagging on to Jon's shoulder. The cabbie that took them to the village was gregarious in a way that reminded Martin of himself only a few years ago. At the time, however, he just wanted the noise to stop. When they arrived in the village, he tried his best to speak when spoken to, but even the most mundane interaction with the shop clerk left him fatigued. When they finally entered the safe house, Martin collapsed on the bed only to wake up the next day, eat whatever Jon put in front of him, use the bathroom, and return to bed. That had been the last four days and Jon took it all in strides.

They'd spoken very little to each other in the last four days, but again, it was the actions that did all the talking. Sleeping in the only bed available happened without discussion. Martin simply woke up at the odd hours of his irregular sleep schedule to find Jon curled up next to him, one scarred hand splayed across his chest as if Jon needed the reminder that Martin was still breathing and solid beneath his fingertips. Martin noticed the cabin looked less dusty on the second day and on the third day there was the homey smell of flowers and fresh laundry wafting through the air. Jon worked himself to the bone to make the cabin more comfortable for however long they needed to stay. Part of it was a massive load of unresolved guilt for the last four years, but the majority of it was a pure desire to make Martin happy. At the very least, Jon wanted Martin to feel safe and loved.

He'd accomplished those goals without saying a word.

Carefully, Martin turned on his side, easing Jon's hand from his chest before laying it back down on the mattress. His face immediately changed from the calm of sleep to unease as his brow furrowed in response. Without thinking, Martin raised Jon's hand to his lips, placing feather-light kisses to his palm and fingers.

"I'm still here," Martin whispered. "I'll be in the kitchen when you wake up."

Jon gave a short grunt of acknowledgement followed by a sigh that sent him back into the state of calm he'd been in before. Martin couldn't help carding his fingers through Jon's hair. He'd cut it off sometime between the second and third day; a sign of the change he was hoping to make after his confession in the Lonely. The sense of freedom from the Institute and the archives was tenuous, but Martin was glad to see some life back in Jon's eyes. The misery of the last six months had sent all of them - Basira, Melanie, and Daisy included - down paths none could have foreseen taking. If not for the Eye, Martin was certain the Lonely would've made a decent go at Jon. The man had more than a lifetime's worth of negative emotions available to smother him in fog and ice. All it took was the right words at the right time and...

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. The Lonely wasn't going to let go easily, but there were little rituals of his own he could partake in to keep it at bay. Indulging himself, Martin examined Jon's mess of hair a moment longer. The cuts were uneven and he could tell the natural waviness would make grow-out a pain, but if it made him happy, then that was more important. He knew something else that made Jon happy.

Tea.

With cat-like finesse, Martin managed to ease off the mattress without disturbing Jon. Giving himself an internal high-five of encouragement, Martin grabbed his jumper and walked into the kitchen. The morning air was chilled regardless of the sunlight pushing through the windows, but Martin found the scenic green hills and blue sky outside more than enough to sate his poet's heart. Padding over to the pantry, he inspected their tea stock. The village shop had little in the variety of teas available but he could see Jon had gone with the tried and true method of buying one of everything. It still wasn't a lot, just five options, but Martin had worked with less.

The breakfast blend was the most obvious choice, but Jon had a dodgy relationship with caffeine. Something about heart palpitations when he'd lived off tea and cigarettes for a month at university. When Martin began routinely bringing Jon tea as a means of checking up on him, he'd gone with a simple menu of Oolong in the morning, green tea around lunch, and a variety of herbal and white teas throughout the rest of the day. It was rare that he brought Jon a black tea and he wasn't about to start now. Of the five options, he picked the generic looking green tea and hoped for the best.

There were only three mugs and Martin picked the one that captured Jon's essence, so to speak. That is to say, it was a yellow mug that had seen better days with green polka dots on the bottom half that were three washes away from disappearing entirely. He dropped the tea bag into the cup. Grabbing the kettle from the stove, he filled it with water and set it back on the active burner. From the refrigerator he pulled out a small carton of milk and from the cupboards he retrieved the sugar and honey.

This was the part he loved most about making tea: the waiting. Patience is a virtue, or so the saying went, but making tea was the surest way Martin knew to put the saying into practice. It was meditative to stand at the counter, the water boiling and bubbling, and let his mind wander through events past and present. When Jon gave him a hard time, making tea helped him calm down and reevaluate his responses going forward. When he feared for the safety of his friends, making tea gave him time to process those anxieties and how he could use them positively. When he'd been alone without friends or family to help him through his plans with Peter Lukas, he made tea to remind himself of what he was doing and who it was for in the end.

He grabbed the kettle before it had more than a second to whistle. Jon deserved to sleep, but he was a light sleeper at the best of times. Even when Martin took his invisible walks through the archives at night, checking in on Jon out of habit, the archivist still managed to startle awake at the merest hint of footsteps. Taking a spoon, he poured the water off the utensil's back, controlling the water's course as he directed it away from the tea bag. Water filled the mug until there was an inch of room available. For good measure, Martin bopped the tea bag under the water before setting it aside to steep. And so began another round of waiting.

Tim used to give him grief about making tea for everyone, as if the very act of brewing and providing drinks for their found family of sorts marked his weakness against the nightmares they faced. Tim didn't understand, few people did, how much could be expressed through a cup of tea. Like flowers, there was a language and a history to each cup. There were the early days of discovering someone's preferences, gauging their mood by how much or how little they drank. Making tea could easily be construed as an apology, a sign of solidarity, or an expression of love. It was all possible if one bothered to look close enough.

He thought about every poem he'd ever whispered over cups that went into Jon's hands; the confessions of love he'd brewed for him over the years. He smiled at how oblivious Jon had been and how much had changed from then to now. 

When three and a half minutes passed, he made ready to doctor up Jon's tea. Everything was in its place and, for a moment, he imagined himself as an alchemist ready to transform lead into gold. The tea bag removed, he stirred in a teaspoon of sugar, a drop of honey, and a splash of milk. The bitterness of the tea was perfectly balanced with the sweeter elements and Martin couldn't help thinking he'd made a cup of tea that could only be Jon's based on description alone.

A loud yawn from behind snapped him Martin out of his reverie.

"You're up earlier than usual," Jon said, sleepily. He stretched his arms over his head, his thin frame dwarfed by the baggy night clothes. His glasses sat precariously low on his nose, but he righted them before they fell. His hair continued to do its own thing.

"Yeah, I...wanted to make you some tea," Martin said. He felt weak in the knees all of a sudden. He gripped the mug to keep his hand from shaking. "I, uh, wanted to say thank you...for coming to get me. For looking after me."

Jon smiled, shyly, moving closer to the counter. He inspected Martin's setup before facing him with a look of confusion. "Where's your mug?"

"Oh, I...um, I guess I didn't make one for myself," Martin confessed. "I was more focused on...Jon?"

Jon moved past Martin to the cupboard. Pulling out a mug that was practically the twin of the one Martin was holding, he moved to the pantry and selected the black tea. Martin watched as Jon grumbled through the preparation, but when the teas was finally set aside to steep the shy smiled reappeared when he faced Martin again. Unsure of what to do, Martin held out the mug to Jon. He took it, but set it on the counter near its twin before stepping closer to Martin.

"I'd rather we have our morning tea together," Jon said. He was projecting his movements, letting Martin know he intended to hug him. Martin nodded slightly, unsure of how it would feel to be fully cognizant in Jon's embrace.

It felt like coming home.

Jon wrapped his arms around Martin, resting his face against Martin's chest. Jon was only a couple inches shorter, but they fit together perfectly and Martin felt himself relaxing into the hug. It didn't make him any more coherent than was normal.

"Your tea will get cold," he said. It was all he could think to say. Jon kept his arms around him, but pulled back to look him in the eyes. All Martin could see in those deep, green orbs was unabashed love and it was all directed at him.

"It'll keep," Jon said, grinning affectionately. "Some things are worth waiting for."

Martin smiled. Slowly, he brought his hands up to frame Jon's face. "So, then...what should we do for the next two minutes?"

Jon returned the smile warmly. "I'm sure we can think of something."

Martin couldn't remember if it was their first, second, or third kiss since coming out of the Lonely. It wasn't something he cared to keep track of, if he was being honest. All that mattered was Jon's lips against his and the quiet sigh of contentment that followed. If their entire morning, hell the entire day, was spent like this then he was perfectly happy to do so. They deserved it. They'd earned it.

And there were plenty more cups of tea to enjoy together.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't make a lot of tea, which might be totally obvious through the description of making tea you just read. I just went with what works for me then I go through a tea-drinking phase.


End file.
